A Broken Dog
by Mr.AppleWood
Summary: This story takes place during the first 15 years of Gob's enslavement to Moriarty and will probably end with the Lone Wanderer. Warning for graphic violence and psychological torture.


Moriarty was evil.

Gob hadn't been out in the wastes for long, and his experiences were mainly from Underworld or long since passed, but Gob without a doubt could say Moriarty was one of the foulest men he'd ever met. Unfortunately, this man was now in charge of the next indefinite span of his life.

"Did you buy me just to beat me?" Gob spat through a bloody mouth, leaning against his bed frame.

Moriarty adjusted metal rings on his fingers, not looking at Gob. Once adjusted, he cracked his fingers and glanced over at the ghoul. "Ever trained a dog, zombie?" The Irish accented voice didn't wait for an answer. "You have to break them before they listen."

"I'm not a dog."

Moriarty grabbed him roughly by the jaw, inches from his face. "Aye, but you'll be beggin like one."

Gob's hands were tied with wires behind his back. The tight metal sliced through the peeling flesh on his wrists. His right eye was swollen shut, his mouth dripped blood from cut lips and cheeks, and every breath hurt.

Moriarty had beat Gob down immediately after showing him the saloon.

Moriarty raised his fist and swiftly slammed it into Gob's skull, nearly knocking him to his side. Gob struggled to sit back up. He had to use his sore core muscles to right himself into a sitting position.

"Tell me, boy, what made you leave that sewer pit of a city? Got tired of being around your own kind?"

"Fuck you."

Another punch. The room spun and Gob's brain felt like it had smacked around the walls of his head. As he sat up again, Moriarty's fist rocketed into his solar plexus, blasting the wind out of his lungs. Before he could attempt to gasp, Moriarty squeezed his dirty hands around Gob's throat. Gob flailed, kicking and twitching and spasming, trying to get any air, any leverage. _I'm going to die. This is it. This is what your grand adventure lead you too,_ Gob thought as spots formed in his eyes. Moriarty's face looming over him was the last thing he saw as the world went black.

Air pushed its way back into Gob's lungs, flavored like cigarettes and whiskey. Someone's mouth was one his, warm and soft and blowing into his own dry mouth. His lungs greedily pulled in all the air they could swell themselves to take. Coughing and gasping, oxygen returned to him.

The first person he saw was Trish, the saloon's current top entertainment. She was straddled over him but she lifted her hips away from him, careful to make as little contact as possible. Her long brown hair framed her tanned face, which currently held an expression of disgust and horror. Oxygen depravity made a halo of light surround her in Gob's eyes. She looked like an angel.

Gob stared at her for a few seconds, or minutes, or however long he was there, before he noticed that she looked scared. Tears streamed down her face, smearing charcoal eyeliner down her cheeks, and she wasn't looking at him, but at someone else in the room.

"Ah, finally, he's awake." Gob's stomach knotted when he heard Moriarty's voice.

Gob strained to lift his head up and look past his feet but when he did he saw Moriarty sitting in a metal chair by the entrance to Gob's bedroom. Moriarty held a gun lazily in his hand, pointing it at Trish.

"I just had our favorite lass here bring you back to life. Had to do it at gun point, I might add." He smiled darkly at the two.

Gob dropped his head back with a heavy thud and gazed up at Trish. She kept her brown eyes on the gun in Moriarty's hand. Gob focused on getting as much air back as possible. Each breath emitted a soft wheezing sound. He could hear his heart beat in his ears. Gob focused on Trish, focused on the rise and fall of her chest, and tried to sync his own breathing with hers. She breathed heavily, each inhale laced with fear and anger. It was a steady rhythm, something easy to fall in line with.

A wicked grin crept through Moriarty's lips. He motioned at Trish with the gun "Hit him."

Trish glared back. Moriarty raised his gun. "Hit him."

Trish turned her gaze to Gob, her eyes going from torn to cold, and raised her hand. She hesitated for a mere second, and then slapped Gob across his left cheek, snapping his head to the side. A loud ringing sung through his ears and he opened his mouth in shock. He turned back to her, the angel who breathed him back to life.

"Harder."

With no hesitation this time, Trish struck open handed again.

"_Harder._"

He had barely turned his head back to her when Trish's fist plowed into his bruised face, completely dazing him. Moriarty commanded for more and Trish delivered. Each strike struck true and each blast knocked him further from reality. He could feel his cheek and eye swell up. Soon Moriarty's voice was lost and all Gob knew was Trish's rage. Her fists kept coming and coming and Gob was pretty sure Moriarty had stopped commanding her to do anything.

Then it stopped. Gob slowly rolled his head to look up at his assailant, his vision blurred and red. Trish panted heavily, her eyes wide, mixed between horror and something much more primal. Moriarty was now behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder, as if saying "That's enough."

Trish raised her shaking hands to her view and saw them bloodied. Her knuckles were cracked and bloodied. She was pale, and splashes of red speckled her face. Moriarty smiled at the chaos he initiated.

"You can go." Moriarty commanded softly in her ear.

Trish stood, one foot at a time, careful not to touch gob, her hands still suspended before her. She backed up, stumbling into the wall behind her. Trish stared down at Gob for one last moment, and with a shake of her head and a look of disbelief, she left.

Moriarty stood in front of Gob. Gob looked up at him, waiting. Moriarty cocked his head to the side, analyzing his captive.

"She seemed to enjoy that," he murmured. "She seemed to hate enjoying it."

Gob's head pounded. He wanted to go to sleep, or die, or just be anything other than awake. His hands were crushed beneath his own weight and had long since fallen asleep. The slicing of the wires now felt like an annoying itch compared to a cutting blade.

"Please…" Gob croaked out.

"Hmm?" Moriarty raised his eyebrows.

"Please..."

"Begging already?" Moriarty smirked. "But training's just begun. This is just day one, lad."

A sob escaped Gob's chest. More urgently he whispered, "Please…"

"Be quiet boy."

"Ple-"

Moriarty shot a cold look at Gob, a look that made Gob's stomach twist in fear. Going from a still statue to a fast blur, Moriarty swung his leg kicked straight into Gob's groin, the steel toed boot struck true. Gob's mouth opened in a silent "O", shocked by the pain of the unexpected kick. He tried to roll over to protect himself, but only managed to roll to his side before another kick hit him in the stomach. Another kick struck his side, cracking a rib, and another hit him in the back. Each hit lifted him off the ground some. Gob felt more ribs crack and fingers break. His bruises thickened with each battalion of beatings. His stomach knotted tightly, muscles twisting into stone, tightening with every additional dose of pain.

When the kicks stopped, Gob was gasping on the ground. Soft whimpers forced themselves out of him with each breath. Nausea and sharp pains illustrated his body. He wanted to vomit or to scream or do anything that would make these sensations stop.

"You're not a man," said Moriarty, "and now, you're not even a monster. You're just a dog."

Gob tensed, expecting another kick. His rapid, uneven breathing and whimpers were the only thing that broke the silence. The moments between seconds seemed to stretch for centuries. Then Moriarty's footsteps echoed through the doorway and faded down the hall.

Gob let out a shaking breath and curled his knees into his chest. His entire body was shaking. Short broken sobs shook out of his mouth. His ribs were broken and his face was swollen, bruised, and mangled. His stomach was tight with a nauseating train track of pain radiating from his groin, and his head continued to pound. His heart was thunderous in his own ears. Gob lay there, next to his bed on the dirty ground, slowly fading into a halfway point of asleep and awake. His moments of peace through the night were broken by sharp stabs of pain from his every breath.


End file.
